Zhitny grandfather

Illustration for the book by G.M. Naumenko "Myths of the Russian people"
Spirit guarding the grain fields. Unlike other undead, his favorite time is noon. Then you can see this little old man with a body as black as earth, with multi-colored eyes, with hair and a beard of ears and grass. From the beginning of the stubble, it is not an easy time for him: he has to run from the sickle and hide in the under-pressed strips. The last sheaf contains his last shelter.

Once upon a time there was a grandfather in the field Himself with a spikelet, a head with a bun, a green beard of three arshins, straw bristles on the head. An ordinary grandfather sits on the border, marvels at his beard: "Oh, yes, the beard is all cornflowers!" Suddenly he sees a hamster came running. Mouth soft, soft. He picked up the grain in the field, laid it by the cheeks. They hung to the ground. The mundane grandfather got angry, stamped his feet, waved his hands, shook his beard, shook his head and shouted:
- Watch out, hamster! Don't steal your life! Otherwise your back will be a straw of a bat!
The hamster was frightened, rushed over the bump.
The lively grandfather is waiting for the hamster to return the grain. And the hamster doesn't give it up. The wolfish grandfather was surprised, angry, stamped his feet, waved his hands, shook his beard, shook his head and shouted:
- If you don’t give it up, hamster, you will have a bit of your back!
The hamster was even more frightened. Doesn't know what to do.
The petty grandfather was surprised that the hamster was silent. He got even more angry, stamped his feet, waved his hands, shook his beard, shook his head and shouted:
- Answer, hamster, why do you need rye ?! And that will be the back of the bat!
The hamster came out from behind a bump. He began to bow to the ground. He began to make excuses. As soon as the mouth opened, grain fell from behind the cheeks to the ground. Not a single grain remained in my mouth. The hamster left the grain field without prey.
The field did not doze for long. The reapers came and began to reap the harvest. The field thundered, from the sickles ringing-chime. Golden sheaves covered the whole field. The mundane grandfather runs along the boundaries and hillocks, hiding now behind a sheaf, then behind a stack. Then he climbed under the bump, stretched, stretched out, put his head on his green beard and fell asleep until the new summer.